


say my name, it's a good one after all

by ratbrain



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:13:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbrain/pseuds/ratbrain
Summary: Tim experiences some derealization, and Jonny helps him stay grounded by telling him stories.
Relationships: Jonny d'Ville/Gunpowder Tim
Comments: 13
Kudos: 54





	say my name, it's a good one after all

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings!!  
> \- anxiety  
> \- derealization

Tim had picked up a few strange habits from the moon war. 

In a way, all three of the mechanisms involved in the war had. Decades had passed and Tim still sometimes heard Jonny humming the recruiters jingle under his breath when they were together, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was doing it. And of course Jonny still serenaded him dramatically with the harmonica solos he’d learned to play under the lead sheets, though Tim was fairly certain he appreciated it far more than their other comrades had. 

But this habit was, well, different. It was...odd. 

Tim had first picked it up about a year or so into the war. That was around the time when the realization of what was actually happening was setting in, and he began to wonder how much longer he would be there for. When he would begin to lose himself in the death and the screams and he needed something to pull him out of it. Something to remind him of who he was, and that he wasn’t just another screaming soldier.

So, he’d say people's names a lot. Specifically Jonny's. 

He couldn’t ever place why it was so comforting. After all, it wasn’t exactly a solution to any of his problems. But it worked. 

It had made Jonny laugh, and after listening to a sentence with his name worked into it two or three times he assumed it was some sort of joke. And if it was a joke, then he was damned sure that he was going to be in on it. Better yet, he thought he could say Tim’s name even more than Tim could say his!

“Yes Tim, I think you’re right about that book Tim, it was definitely better than the first one Tim,” he’d say, noticing how Tim’s face would break into the first genuine smile he’d seen in months as he spoke. 

It became sort of a normal thing between them. Tim would go to Jonny, clearly distraught, and would start saying his name a lot when he talked. Jonny would do the same, and while he might have initially thought it was a joke, he quickly realized that it was far more serious. But he didn’t want to let Tim know that, so he just kept up the facade that it was nothing more than a silly joke between them. He always made sure to not let Tim leave his sight until he was smiling and looking semi normal again. 

But of course, that was decades ago. At least, that’s what Tim was telling himself. 

He knew he didn’t want to be thinking what he was thinking. And in many ways, part of him knew what was true and what wasn't. But the problem was that sometimes his head could be a bit, well, screwed up. At first he’d considered the possibility that his mechanism was interfering with his brain, because after all they were very close together so the idea made a bit of sense. He’d considered going to Marius about it, but decided he’d rather turn to someone who’s medical opinion would actually hold some validity, and so he sought out Ivy. She had told him that unfortunately, he was diagnosed with what one called “having thoughts”. 

So essentially he was sitting on The Aurora, doing something as mundane as cleaning his pistols ( _which he did regularly enough that it really shouldn’t register as anything abnormal_ , he told himself when he first felt that familiar dread settling over him) and he just...forgot where he was. He had a vague sense of knowing, in that he knew he was on The Aurora, but nothing he was doing fully registered as real. Like his body wasn't really his, only something that he barely controlled. The worst was when he tried closing his eyes, because at least when he was looking around he could see where he was and gain some semblance of reality. He had never been more thankful for his mechanical eyes not needing to blink than in those moments, as every time he closed them he thought he’d open them to see a dimly lit moon tunnel. 

He stood up, acting purely on instinct as he walked through the halls to Jonny’s room. He really hoped Jonny was there, because he didn’t know what he would do if he wasn't. He told himself that if Jonny wasn’t there he could at least cuddle into the blankets of the no doubt unmade bed and comfort himself with the familiar scent as he waited for him. 

He knocked on the door. Thankfully, Jonny opened the door and asked Tim what he was up to. 

“Hey Jonny,” Tim said taking a seat on the bed (which he duly noted was in fact unmade), “How are you Jonny?”

“M’ alright. Got into a fight with Nastya about something stupid before, but you know how it is.”

“What did you guys fight about, Jonny?” Tim asked. 

“Well she still won’t tell me how she fucks the ship and-”

“Yeah that’s cool Jonny,” Tim said, and when Jonny turned to look at him he saw that his mechanical eyes were wildly scanning the messy room, trying desperately to find something to focus on. 

Jonny stopped, “Are you alright, Tim?” he asked. Tim looked up at him, then shook his head. Jonny sat down next to him, wanting nothing more than to wrap him up in his arms and promise him the entire universe, but also not wanting to overwhelm him. 

“Tim, can you tell me what’s wrong?” Jonny asked, remembering to use Tim's name as he spoke. 

“Jonny it’s, I don’t know, it’s stupid Jonny. I know I’m here, and I know I’m with you Jonny, but for some reason my stupid fucking head keeps telling me that I’m not. Sometimes I think that when I blink or turn around I’ll be back on the moon, or, or that I’m already back there. And it’s dumb Jonny and I hate it so much and I don’t understand why it’s happening.”

Jonny nodded at Tim’s explanation, trying to keep his panic at his complete lack of understanding what to do in this kind of situation hidden. Whether or not it was actually working was a different story. Still, he at least kept his voice gentle as he spoke. 

“Is there any way I can help you?” he asked. 

“Just, stay? And, and talk to me?” Tim whispered, and Jonny assumed he was on the verge of not speaking at all. 

“Of course, can I hold you?”

Tim considered this for a second, and then shook his head no. “I’m sorry Jonny, just not yet. Maybe later, but I need to be able to see right now.”

“Hey it’s okay, don’t apologize. Here, why don’t we try something?” Jonny suggested, and Tim looked at him questioningly. Jonny assumed Tim had finally slipped behind being capable of verbal responses, and took that as his cue to keep speaking. 

“You go around my room, pick out something weird, and I can tell you about it. Obviously if you don’t want to you don’t have to, I just thought it might be grounding or something like that.”

Tim nodded, getting off Jonny’s bed and looking around the room. 

Finding something in Jonny’s room was a bit difficult, because you had to know your way around the sea of dirty clothes piled up in random spots on the floor. If Tim was feeling up to it he probably would have made some remark about whether or not Jonny even knew how to wash clothes. He shoved over a small stack of belts and saw underneath them a small jar filled with a greenish liquid. He held it up and looked to Jonny with a questioning expression. 

“Oh that’s piss,” Jonny said. 

Tim’s eyes widened in horror as he nearly dropped the jar, to which Jonny started hysterical laughing. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! The opportunity was too good to pass up. Please tell me you didn’t actually believe me. You know what, on second thought I’m gonna make that a rhetorical question, I don’t want to know if you actually thought I was capable of that or not. Anyways, what you’re holding Tim is a jar of Syndrean whiskey. I must’ve gotten it-”

And that was how they spent the next hour or so, with Tim silently holding up an object, and Jonny weaving an elaborate story to go alongside it. They had been through a harmonica that Jonny had stolen from a store back on New Texas (“baby’s first shoplift,” he’d joked), a blanket that he’d stolen from Nastya, who still didn’t know where it was and would probably kill Jonny when she found out he'd stolen it from her, and a pistol when Tim spoke again. 

“I’m sorry Jonny,” he said quietly. 

Jonny rushed to his side, “Darling, you don’t have to apologize for anything. It’s not your fault your brains fucked up,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of Tim’s head, before remembering and jumping back as if he’d been burned. 

Tim laughed, “it’s alright, Jonny.”

Of course Jonny took this to mean “crawl into Tim’s lap and pull Nastya’s blanket around the both of you and rub Tim’s back”. But if Tim was upset, he showed no signs of it, gently rubbing his cheek against its resting place on Jonny’s shoulder and sighing contentedly as Jonny rubbed his back. 

“And you’re gonna say I’m the one with a fucked up brain meanwhile you’re the one making piss jar jokes,” Tim said. 

“You’re the one who believed it.”

“I did not!”

“You almost dropped the jar when I said it.”

“Well okay I believed it was _someone's_ piss, just not yours.”

“You don’t think I’m capable of that?”

“Jonny it was green.”

“Tim, I am offended.”

“Oh just shut up and cuddle me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely live for the head canon that Jonny's room is super chaotic and no one can take that away from me.


End file.
